Unsent Letter

This morning when I walked my usual two miles around the complex —three times—I both appreciated the hills and the ease of rolling out my door to do this before breakfast ramble, although this morning it felt more like a slog. 

On the second circuit around three boys, probably six to eight, busied themselves by riding up and down the walkways. By the third circuit the group ballooned to six riders, one girl, and they, too, completed the loop.

Do you recall your first two-wheeler? Your brother learned to ride that summer, although I thought that he might wear through his knees and elbows while learning.
You —two years younger and shorter—took his bike and began to ride down the hill. Your feet didn’t reach the pedals and you couldn’t possibly stop the bike. The last neighbor on the block watched you fly down the hill and managed to catch the bike when you arrived at a flat place and your speed slowed down.

Rather than trust you to stay off the oversized bike you received an early six-year-old birthday gift—a two-wheel bike, basket and odometer.

Do you recall your first long bike ride? You and a friend decided to spend the day riding up and down the cul-de-sac where we lived. The street was long and had a short hill.

At one end our house and at the very other end your friend's house.

The two of you rode back and forth, stopped to refuel on water and Orange Tang. You both asked for sandwiches for lunch and set them in your basket along with a Twinkie.

The goal—twenty miles.

I know you all made ten miles, but I don’t recall if you ever reached the twenty-mile mark.

Your brother kept riding longer and longer distances as he grew up. Eventually he rode his bike on a two thousand mile jaunt in Asia. You lost interest in riding when you discovered ice skates.

Do you ever think about that day when you pedaled as if you could do anything —especially with the wind at your back?